Digital Library of Georgia Logo

The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, December 18, 1875, Image 3

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

[For The Sunuy Sonth.J THE SOLDIER’S DREAM. BY HENRY A. CARR. By the thoughts within me stealing, Dreams of half-forgotten days,— By the bugles softly pealing. And the breeze which round me plays,— Oft I’m carried hack to childhood, Scenes of sadness, scenes of joy, And that well-remembered wild wood Where I wandered when a boy. In that well-remembered dwelling, First I play'd my gambols wild; There my mother, fond hopes telling, Gazed upon her darling child. Once I stole away, and roaming O’er the forest far and wide, Wandered where the flowers were blooming On the Patseelagga's tide. Where the flowers were sweetly springing, And the proud magnolias tower; Yellow jasmines there were clinging Hound our fairy, sylvan bower. There from rosy morning, sitting, Till the evening s golden ray, With the song-birds round us flitting, Oft I’d with my sisters play. Thus, by thoughts within me stealing— By the dreams of other days— By the sweet, low music pealing— By the breeze which round me plays— Oft I’m carried back to childhood, Scenes of sadness and of joy, And that sweet and fairy wildwood Where I wandered when a boy. [Written for The Sunny South.] FIGHTING AGAINST FATE; OR, Alone in the World. BY MARY K. BUY AY. CHAPTER XVIII. Esther opened her eyes in a shaded room, yet the light was strong enough to wound her weak ened sight, and she involuntarily closed her lids again, and lay motionless, trying to recall her senses, and form some idea of where she was and what had happened. She knew that she was lying on a bed, that her hand was in the clasp of another’s hand; and in that one look upward she had had a glimpse of a man’s head bowed upon his palm. Perfect silence was in the room, so deep that the song of a bird, in a tree outside, seemed absolutely to pierce Esther’s ear with its shrill sweetness. Presently, the song ceased, and she could hear the deep breathing of the man who sat by lier. At last, she heard the passionate exclamation. “God (if there is a God) be merciful! Spare her life. Spare her to me as the only blessing I crave!” She knew the voice, anil a shudder crept over her. “Spare her to me,” said the deep tones with the emphasis of possession. With an im pulse to assert herself against it. she tried to shake off the weakness that bound her as a chain, and once more opened her eyes. They met the eyes of Capt. Kirne, who was bending over her anxiously. “Thank God you are better!” he exclaimed. “I see by yonr look that you know me, Miss Bernard. Don’t you ?” “Certainly; why should I not? Havel been soo ill as that, Capt. Kirne ? Tell me how it hap pened and where I am.” “Yon have been very sick. You are better 1 now, and among kind people. All you have to do is to he very quiet and try to get well. Don’t worry about anything.” “ Can I not see some one of my own sex? Are i there no women here ?” “ Of course”—a shade of disappointment cloud ing his face; “I will bring the woman of the house if you wish, But you must not talk, and you must not bother your brains with thinking j sion,” was her thought, or with looking ahead. Leave all that to me.” He was holding her delicate hand in both his brond palms as he bent over her. His tone, his words, his manner, more than all. that look in his eyes, bewildered her. A mist of doubt floated through her brain. What had taken place ? How long had her unconsciousness lasted, and what had she done or said to give Capt. lvirne a right to this personal interest in her welfare. She closed her eyes and tried to recall what had happened. When she opened them again, it was upon the sallow, pleasant, commonplace face of the middle-aged woman who had taken Capt. Kirne s place by her bed. “ Well, I'm main glad to see you’ve come round again,” said her thinpehirrupy voice. “I’ve brought some nice beef tea, and Capt. Kirne says you must taste a few spoonsful to give you some strength. You've had a pretty sharp at tack.” “Tell me about it, please,” entreated Esther, faintly. “I will; but you mustn't talk. The Captain ’j’ined upon me to keep you quiet, and the Doc tor said the same. Just you lie still on your pil low, and let me give you a spoonful or two of the tea while I'm a-talkiu’. You know when the coach turned over, you struck your head against something and knocked you senseless. The Doctor thinks you must have been sick before— feverish or bothered in mind, and that and the fright and the blow all together brought on in formation of the brain, or something of that sort. And so here you’ve lain ever since — three days ago it's been for most part in a kind of stupor. Doctor's just left a few minutes ago called off to see Parson Lark, that’s got another stroke of apoplexy. He said he thought your sickness was at a turning point, and there'll he a change. I'm ri al glad to see it's for the better.” “ I am deeply grateful to you for your kind ness. my dear madam.” “Oh! it’s not much help we have been—my daughter and me though willing to do all we could; but there wasn't much left for us to do. Captain Kirne never left you day nor night for more than live minutes at a time, he was that anxious; and only natural he should be. I must say that I never saw any woman more quiet and tender; and he such a big, strong man. It’s my ! opinion he saved your life that evening you was hurt. They tell me he wrenched out one of the coach seats, and made a litter out of that and the cushions, and put you upon it straight away and brought you here he and a man he hired to help him—and took yon right to the well, looking the picture of death that you did; and , there he teemed goardful after gonrdful of cold water on your head until yon color come back a-bit and you looked less like the dead. Then, we got you to bed, and right by it he took his place, with his eyes fixed upon you, watching your very breathing, it seemed to me. I told my daughter you ought to be thankful for such a man.” “I am thankful for his kind attention, but I wish that only you and your daughter had nursed me.” “Oh, no, now. It would have been too bad to deprive him of the satisfaction of tending on you. And there wasn't anything wrong in it. It wasn't as if it had been some man who was nothing to you.” “ Captain Kirne is nothing to me—only an ac- juaintance.” Hush !” said the landlady, raising a warning j hand; “there he is, tapping at the door. He is afraid I am talking to you too much, and so I am. I ll just take the tea out to keep warm, and leave you to rest. The Doctor will be coming uirectiy.” As she opened the door, Captain Kirne ap peared with a brisk dapper personage, who proved to be the physician. The professional gentleman, after consulting Esther's pulse and peering into her eyes, turned to Captain Kirne and clapped him upon tlie shounier. “1 congratulate you, my dear sir. She's de cidedly better out of all danger now, if she has only good nursing—and that yon will be sure to give her is kept quiet and has nourishing food. I hope, by the way, you will not object to eating something yourself now. Mrs. Eloyd tells me you have starved yourself these three days, till you look worse than my patient does.” So, he too seemed to take for granted a con nection between Esther and Captain Kirne. She turned her eyes haughtilv' upon the tall Californian, and tried to summon strength to utter an indignant protest against the idea of his intimate interest in her which his actions had given rise to; hut the Doctor’s volubility and her own languor prevented the explanation. When at last he bowed himself out of tlie room, Capt. Kirne accompanied him outside the door, which he closed, but so lightly that it sprang back a little way, and through the aperture, Esther hud a glimpse of Capt. Kirne in the act * of paying money to the Doctor. “This will never do,” she thought; “I must repel him at once. I must repay every’ obliga tion as far as I can, and let him know that I do not need his attentions.” While thought occupied her mind, the door opened, and Capt. Kirne came to her side with i a glass in his hand. “Drink this; it is iced lemonade,” he said, and before she could remonstrate he had raised her head on his arm and put the goblet to her 1 lips. She drank the refreshing contents without speaking, but as he was gently laying her back on the pillow, she stopped him. “Capt. Kirne, I must speak to you.” “Not now,” he answered; “another time. Now you must rest.” His tones, commanding in spite of their gen tleness, and the steady look of his eyes, stayed the exercise of her weakened will. “ Trouble yourself about nothing,” he added, laying in her hand a cluster of pink roses. Then he w ent out, after first drawing the curtain so as \ to shade an intrusive ray from her face. With a sigh, half of weakness, half of content, she nes tled into the pillows and closed her eyes. It was pleasant, after all, to be cared for. Esther’s attack had been short, though sharp; her recovery was proportionately rapid. In a very few days, the faint color and rounder curves came back to ber face, and she was able ! to walk about her room. Her look that day had been sufficient to keep Kirne from her bedside thereafter; but when she was sufficiently well to ; sit at the window in her brown and crimson | dressing-gown, he took his place near her on the j j outside and made a little festival of the occasion with the huge bouquet he laid in the window- j ; sill before her, and the plate of berries he had i gathered and covered with cream. The next day, she found out whence came the j delicate game—the birds and squirrels that had 1 been so constantly brought to her, broiled and buttered. Sitting at a trout window, in a cool, white wrapper, with her hair in lovely, waved masses on her shoulders, she saw the tall figure of Captain Kirne come out from the belt of woods j that fringed the river and approach the house. ! She watched him as he came, with his gun slung across his shoulder and his left hand j swinging a string of partridges he had killed. She noted the bold figure, the easy, swinging gait, the broad, well-built shoulders and firmly- poised head, with its careless, wind-blown locks crowned by the slouched sombrero. It was a picture of physical strength. The step, the air, the face were suggestive, too, of courage and in dependence, and of that chivalry and protective tenderness inseparable from a truly brave na ture. She watched him with a woman’s pride in manly strength and courage. “That arm would be a powerful defense—that breast a strong shield against wrong and oppres- I am glad that Dusky is blessed with such a protector in this aggres sive world.” As he came nearer and caught sight of her at the open window, the grave, fierce gloom on his face gave way to a bright gleam. He came up close to the window anil leaned against a catalpa tree, with his gun at a rest. “What were you smiling at as you looked at me? Is my face stained with gunpowder?” “No; I was only thinking that you would do for a picture of Robin Hood as you stand there.” “ Who is Robin Hood ? Some book character, I suppose, and I am no scholar.” “lie is an historical character—an English Ri- naldo Rinaldini.” “ I know who Rinaldini was,” he said, chang ing color and looking at her searcliingly. “A robber- a Spanish robber. I have heard songs about him and his deeds. Miss Bernard, why do I make you think of a robber?” His ruddy flush had given place to a swarthy paleness, and his look was agitated. “Only because your hat, your figure, your mustache and the gun in your hand give you a resemblance to the pictures of bandits one sees in the old-time romances.” “Oh! is that all?” with a smile of relief. “The brigand is a relic of barbarism, and is disappearing like the buffalo. I suppose the robber can still be found in the mountains of Italy and of Mexico. Are there not bands of brigands in Mexico, Captain Kirne ?” “Yes,” he said, after a pause; “but they do not look much like the pictures in yonrnovels,” he added with a grim smile. “I suppose yon the boat upon a seat over which he had thrown hi- coat as a precaution against the damp. The sun was sinking; half the river was in gloom, the other half in rosy brightness. “Let ns pull out of the shadow,’ he said, and | rowed into the middle of the stream. A bayou flowing into the river on the other side attracted Esthers attention, and Captain Kirne pulled across and a little way up the : bayou, whose strong, swift current rushed to j join the river with such force that the water at the junction boiled into foam, and whirled in rapid eddies dangerous to the boatman or the I swimmer. The bayou was rising; driftwood of logs, leaves and tree-boughs were borne down by the current. A dead bough, with a green vine attached, covered with clusters of coral- | hued berries, went whirling near Esther. She j leaned forward and reached out after it at the instant that the boat struck a snag, and the j shock threw her from her balance. She would 1 have fallen headlong hail not Kirne grasped her and drew her back a dead weight on his sinewy arm, her hair dripping from the water it had j swept. Frightened, she clung to him ; he clasped her lightly to his breast, and his hot breath touched her cheek. Struggling from his * arms, she threw hack the masses of wet hair and gasped for breath. “Take me hack instantly,” she said. \ He grasped the paddle and righted the whirl ing boat. Then, turning round to her, he I pointed to the rapid current. “If you had fallen there, you would have I been sucked under and whirled down in a sec ond. The best of swimmers would hardly have a chance here.” “I cannot swim—I should have perished!” Esther answered, shuddering. “ I would have saved you, or died with you,” he said, looking into her face with such intens- ! ity of passion that a thrill of fear ran through her, and she said, faintly: “Make haste, please; I am not well.” He rowed back in silence, while she sat re solving to fly from his presence as soon as she might. The river had risen so that several boats [For The Sunny South.] THE POET. BY MARIA LOt' EVE. Dies it make you sad, 0 Poet, to sing. That your songs have ever that mournful ring? Nay, these are my tears; and should tears be glad ? Do you wonder, then, that my songs are sad ? Who taught you. O P >et, all the mournful fears That you sing to us when your songs are tears ? I learnt them in darkness, when the nights were long; I heard them in sorrow—I tell them in song. Is it so, O Poet, that your loss and pain All serve but to teach you a tenderer strain ? The robin sings best with the thorn in its breast, And the sweetest leaf is the one that's prest. Are they worth. 0 Poet, all they cost you, then— These songs that you sing in the ears of men ? It is naught to me what the songs may bring: My fate is upon me—I needs must sing. [For The Sunny South.] BOOK-WORLD. BY ALMA. A chill north-wind, a bleak sky and leafless forests render it no longer delightful “To waste in wood-paths the delicious hours.” But there are, fortunately, other realms in which to wander, and Fancy has a tireless wing. Sit ting at my window while the wood fire falls into “glowing dice ” on the hearth, I can enter a pop ulous world, infinitely more charming than this prosaic one of actuality, and shake hands with , j' r f e f,> the icortd. many pleasant friends and acquaintances. Oh, dear, delightful book-world! hew many sad hearts have found comfort in wandering through your “ways of pleasantness!”—how many hungry natures have found there the rich nutriment of RELIGIOUS ITEMS. The religions revival meetings in Athens con tinue with unabated interest. At a meeting of the Trustees of Furman Uni- vesity. Elder J. C. Hiden. pastor at Greenville, was given the degree of D. D. Baptists in Mississippi are making strenuous endeavors to secure for their Southern I'niver- sity. to be located at Jackson, Mississippi, an endowment of $300,000. We notice the continuance of religions revi vals in all sections of the South. Exchanges this week show about six hundred accessions to ■ the various Christian churches. The Broadway Baptist Church, Louisville, ; Kentucky, of which Dr. J. L. Burrows is pastor, has been greatly damaged by tire. The pastor's library, valued at SO,000, was destroyed. Recent events have opened Italy to the gospel, I and it is now preached at the very door of the Vatican, and the religious world is looking for | large results, and that at no remote day. It must he gratifying to the members of the i Methodist Episcopal Church, South, to know that the Vanderbilt University, at Nashville, is i an unusual success. It has now enrolled four | hundred students. It is estimated that about the year 1870, there were in heathen lands, ‘2,500 churches; 10,000 ; native preachers; over 300,000 native Christians; ’ over 1,000,000 nominal Christians, and over 360,- ! 000 pupils in the schools. The work of endowing Furman University, begun four years ago, is completed. The en- l dowment of $200,000 in valid bonds has been secured, and from January 1, 1870, the Univer- ; sity will be open to all students free of tuition- beauty and grandeur denied them in their own had gone up as far as Shreveport, and one of [ lur( ] an ,| barren lives! these was due the next day, or the day succeed ing that. She determined that she would leave on this and escape the fate that seemed to lie in wait for her in the depths of those leonine eyes. That night, she prepared for going away. She found out from Mrs. Floyd the amount of the Doctor’s bill that the Captain had paid, and en closed it in an envelope directed to Captain Kirne, and meant to be left for him. After set tling with Mrs. Floyd for board, she would barely have money enough left to pay her pas sage to New Orleans. What she should do when there, she did not .know. She could form no plans at the present; her nerves were unstrung by physical weakness and Mental suffering. Dressed in a traveling suit, and with her trunk ready, she sat at lier window next day waiting for a boat. In the afternoon, she went down to the river-side to watch for the heralding smoke around the bends, taking with her the landlady’s two little girls as a safeguard from Captain Kirne. But the children deserted her to hunt for blackberries, and while she stood on a projecting ledge, looking anxiously up the river, a voice at her side made her start. “You are standing too near the edge. The banks are beginning to cave, as they do at every rise of the river. Here is safer ground.” “Thank you; I am going back. I only came to say good-by to the cottonwood grove and to look out for a boat, I will leave on the first one that comes down.” “Are you sure you are well enough to travel? Do you not think we had better put off going for a few days?” We ? Was it possible that he meant to accom pany her? That she should not escape him after all? She answered decidedly. “ I cannot afford to waste,.any more time in idleness. I must go somewhere and find work; hut of course my movements need not influence you, Captain Kirne. I am well enough now to take care of myself. I will always remember yonr kindness, though it is quite possible that when we part, our paths will never intersect j again.” “Esther,” he said, coming close to her, “do J you think that I will ever part from you?—ever { give you up? From the first moment I saw you, ! I made up my mind that, come what might, our j fates should be united.” “Captain Kirne ” “ Esther, you cannot go out in the world and struggle alone in this way. You are too young and tender-hearted. It will kill you. I have j knocked about a good deal on this earthly ball, j and I know that a young, unprotected woman | has hardly half a chance. And if the curs of slander get after her—then God help her! Ev- ! cry door of honorable support will be shut upon ! her. Esther, don't shrink from me in that way. j It s not much I offer you; I’m a rough man, | with uo education but what I’ve picked up here j and there, and mighty little polish and knowl- J edge of how to please a lady’s ear; but I’ve got | a stout heart and a strong arm, and I love you i as, I believe before God, a man never loved a j woman before. I will protect you and stand by you—yes, and before you—to shield off every 1 arrow that might hurt you. As my wife, you shall never know a hardship, a care or annoy ance that I can prevent, and prevent them I will with my strength and my life. What have you to say to me, Esther ?” “Mr. Kirne, what do you know of my past life ? What do I know of yours ? ” “ Who cares for the past—it is dead and goffe. I stand here and offer you my present self, my present and future love and all the rest of my life. ‘ For better or worse, ’ says the book of God. I am free to own I've led a wild, reckless sort of life, but that’s gone and past, and it’s left no stain on my honor, as I look upon it. As for As I look from my window on the wintry land scape, I seem to see, on yonder side of the road, little Nell leading her aged grandfather; over yonder in the field, where the sheep are lazily browsing, Eugene Wrayburn waits for Lizzie; that clump of low pines becomes a low rambling house which resounds to old Tom Newccme's last “Answer,” and yonder grass plat is sufficient representation of the garden where Edith walked and fought alone the battle with her heart. Eight by our side we make the couch for “tiny Tim,” and hear him murmur, in a voice weak ened by approaching death, “God bless us all, every one.” Away off yonder is a field of broom sage, rising or sinking as it is moved by the winds, like the waves of the sea. Over there we see a sea "nd a ship driven upon the rocks; we hear tht am bling of distant thunder, and we shrink from The Japanese are leaning to the magnetism of Christianity. The Bible has been translated into their classical language, religions liberty is allowed to the people, schools are scattered over the empire, and the spirit of progress is mani fest in every direction. The Fegee Islands, with a population of 200,- 000, thirty-six years ago were cannibals. Now, about one-half attend public worship and read the Bible. There are about 25,000 church mem bers, 603 native preachers, 1,000 school teachers, and 36,000 pupils in the schools. Cannibalism, infanticide and polygamy are fast passing away. According to the ratio of increase in India (as ascertained by the British Government), for the two decades preceding 1871, at the termination of the next eighty years, there will be 53,000,000 of converts in heathen lands; and, at the close of a century, upwards of 200,000,000 converts. Is not the future full of promise ? The British Government has compiled statis tics of the number of converts in India, and the increase for ten years. Between 1851 and 1861 (ten years) the increase was fifty-three per cent; from 1861 to 1871, the increase was 61 per cent. the Minding flashes ot lightning. Then as the j According to this ratio of increase, the present tinti .1 iIiol- ovA.l ativ Im/iniunu mnrn /minr 1 . .. ... _ . A wind dies away and our sea becomes more quiet, we watch the calm come on and on the beach we ; 400,000*and7,“6()ffi000 nominal Christians, see ISteerforth, lying as he did in his little cot nmnber of converts in heathen lands is nearly at school, with one arm thrown over his head, j and his beautiful hair in ringlets over his noble i brow. Oh, how we moan with Copperfield as he kneels by the side of his beloved friend ! How we remember the many noble qualities of that friend, and regret that weakness of will and the lack of fixed principles have brought him to ruin. How the silvery tinkle of the cow-bells in the distance reminds us of Agnes with her basket of keys hanging from her belt, and how distinctly do we see the quiet, modest eyes, and hear the low, sweet tunes, and are impressed by the gen tle, severe manners of Dickens’ picture of per fect womanhood. Do we not catch ourselves smiling sometimes when we remember how we sat before our desk at school, remindful of the open Florace before us, while we listened to Guy Darrell as he mis chievously tormented his musical friend, who ; hated Horace, with such snatches as this ? . . . . ** Neque tibias Euterpe coliibet, nee Polyhymnia Lesboum refugit teudere barbiton.” How many dear friends do the pages of Bul- wer and Scott contain for us ? How our minds dwell with pleasure upon Pompeii and the Rienzis; how we love Ivanhoe, Rebecca, and the \ hosts that follow in their train. [For The Sunny South. ECHOES. BY M. JENNIE POUTER. would rather meet a savage beast than one of 1 y°W I know you to he all that is lovely and dear them.’ “I prefer to see them in the novels; even there they are going out of fashion. One does not now hear of damsels being carried off and marrying robber chiefs.” “They prefer to marry civilized robbers, who do their plundering in a lawful way,—by cheat ing, bribing, swindling and political knavery !” : he said bitterly, as he threw his gun back upon his shoulder and strode into the house. The next day, Esther was able to walk to the river-side. Here there was a second bank, shelv- : ing out from the main one that rose above it like a terrace. This second bank, sloping down to ' the water's edge, was carpeted with grass and j shaded by a grove of young cottonwood trees, that rustled with sibillant murmurs to the j slightest breeze. Esther walked here this even- 1 ing and the next, listening to the flow of the ! murky waters and the cry of the whip-poor-will : in the deep woods on the opposite bank of the ! river. Each time, she had managed to be alone; but on the third evening, as she stood leaning against a scycamore whose branches dipped into the stream, she heard the swash of oars, and looking up, saw Captain Kirne seated in a skiff, and pulling for the bank with such long, steady 1 sweeps as sent the light shallop flying through the water, and soon brought it to land at Esther's i feet “Get in,” he said, rising and holding out his hand. “There is no wind, and the river is smooth as glass.” in woman; and I cannot—will not, give you up. | Don't snatch away your hands from me—soft as any dove’s breast. Don’t try to flutter away from me, my darling—my white dove, else I shall turn hawk and seize you and carry you away by force. ” His eyes that gleamed down up«n her from his bent, eager head were keen and strong of glance as a hawk’s, and were in color similar to the fiery topaz orbs of that bird of prey. Their fierce, wild tenderness half terrified Esther. She was so agitated that he noticed it. “ You are pale. I have frightened you by such a rough kind of courtship. I meant to be gentle, but I have had wild surroundings and rough company so long. If I could speak as tenderly as I feel—oh ! my sweetest, you could not say ‘no ’ to me.” “Capt. Kirne—” “Hush ! don't speak now with that pale, scared face. Think over it to-night. Remember how I love you—how I am yours, body and soul, and don’t, don't say to-morrow the word that will part us. Part! did I say ? No, Esther Bernard, part with you, I never shall. Go where you will, I will follow you—yes, to the world’s end ! ” Dropping the hands he had caught and pressed to his breast, he turned and walked leisurely away. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Are there no echoes hut those reverberatin_ sounds that return to the listener through long, high vaults or arches, or far over the hills and through the valleys? Ah! yes; only think a moment! Do you never hear echoes returning to your listening heart, from out the long, dim vistas of the past—echoes of brief, blissful hours we have known—short, happy years that are gone ! Do not echoes of dead loves come stealing up ! through the breast, in little snatches of song? in thrilling strains of music? in the fragrant breath of a flower? in a voice that whispers i softly? a touch that gently thrills? an eye that ; brightens? a kiss that trembles with the pal- j pitating heart ? Do you never hear echoes of lost hopes, welling ! up in your longing soul, when you see others trusted, loved, caressed, by friends of whom the j heart feels proud ? Do not echoes of faded day- j dreams come back to the cheated heart, in the bright reality of some loved and favored one’s I cot among the vines, where all day long the merry birds sing, bright flowers blow, sparkling ! fountains play, and the little cottage queen sits ! waiting fondly for the coming of the brave man ; who has taken her happiness forever into his j keeping? waits for his fond words of greeting— his warm kisses that tell so much of the love her soul asks for ? Echoes of my faded dreams and lost hopes are ever returning !—echoes of all that brought joy to my heart, or peace to my soul—long ere Love beguiled, Hope cheated and Fortune betrayed me— before “the midnight curtain of despair” wrap ped my young soul in darkness ! Echoes of free, happy hours, when in my day of pride I bowed me to the god to whom all hearts must bow—when Hope beat high, and my soul dreamed but the rosy vision of love and happiness ! Ah! . . . “ strike the lyre, And kindle with its genial fire The light of other days ! ” Although there is something sadly sweet in the sound of these wailing echoes, to which the heart loves to listen awhile, yet they sadden, rather than brighten, life’s reality. Alas ! these echoes of the loved and lost come but to tantalize the unsatisfied hear f , and thus we find us ever sigh ing for the Impossible ! According to Commodore Maury, who is, per haps, the best authority, the population of the ! world is 1,350,000,000;"360,000,000 of this num ber are inhabitants of Christian countries, and 900,000,000 are heathen. Twenty-six only out of every one hundred belong to the states of Chris tendom; and among these are included infidels, atheists, heathen and unbelievers. But a small part of the twenty-six are real Christians. The islands of Eastern and Central Polynesia, sixty years ago, were inhabited by savages, with out a solitary Christian convert. Now, more than half the natives are members; a very large pro portion of the people attend public worship on the Sabbath; and it would be difficult to find a professed idolater in the islands. They educate their children, sustain their native preachers, and send their noblest sons as missionaries to regions beyond. They live in peaceable villages, are constructing roads, cultivating their fields, and engaging in commerce with other nations. Two incidents significant of the growing I comity of North and South, have recently oc curred in the Episcopal Church. St. James’ j Church, Chicago, which was notable in the Northwest for the intensity of Union sentiments among the parishioners, and in whose vestibule stands a monument to the young men of the j parish who fell fighting for the Union, has just j taken for its rector Rev. Dr. Harris, from New Orleans, during the war an officer in the Confed- J erate service, who afterwards took orders; and Trinity Church, New Orleans, formerly Bishop j Polk's parish, has just invited to its rectorship | Rev. Dr. Thompson, of Chicago, who, during the war, was one of the most outspoken Union men among the Episcopal clergy in the North west. The Hebrews of Savannah are about to build i a temple. The building will be one hundred and forty feet long by forty-eight feet wide, with | tower one hundred and twenty-five feet high, and slate roof. The style is gothic, of the four- j teeth century order; the windows of a peculiar and unique appearance. The aisles will be of an uncommon order of excellence, beautifully grained and moulded. The nave will be half grained and arched, with a height of about forty feet. This nave roof will be the second of its kind in the United States, the Catholic Church in Huntsville, Alabama, having one similar; they were both, however, designed by the archi tect of the proposed temple. I One of the illusions is that the present hour : is not the critical, decisive hour. W rite it on vour heart that every day is the best day in the , -, . ... . ..- r , * ^ar. No man has learned anything rigid* until ^uld be without them. Forward your ABOUT WOMEN. A twelve-year old girl was married in Hamil ton county, Tennessee, last week. One of the most ineffectual things in the world is undoubtedly a blue-eyed woman’s rage. There are one hundred and twenty thousand women teachers employed in the schools of the country. We are told that nothing was made in vain. But how about a fashionable girl? Isn’t she maiden vain? There are seventeen ways for a fashionable lady to do up her hair, and none of the ways re quire over four hours’ time. All the Greenland girls wear pantaloons and overcoats, and the one with the most whale-oil on her hair is called the best looking. Shakspeare said, “There is a tide in the affairs of men,” hut it appears to he pretty much all tied-back in the affairs of women. Mrs. Partington wants to know if it were not first intended that women should drive their husbands, why are they put through the bridal ceremony? When a Canadian girl loves she loves like a hand engine going to a fire. In a breach of promise suit it was shown that a young lady wrote to her lover eight times a day. Chinese women sell for prices ranging from ten cents to six dollars each (very hard cash) in San Francisco. Children cry for them, and no You can depend on Kansas, flour. A loaf of bread passed into the Leavenworth jail con- It was sunset, and the rosy reflection lay upon j tained two files, a knife, a bottle of acid and a A ** A M ♦ L f L A . .A I .. H — - — A* iJ . - 1 J I 11 — T n _ — I _ A I * 1 _ 1 the river with the pictured cirri of fleecy gold and vermilion that floated overhead. From the opposite bank, the willows dropped their green tresses in the stream. It was tempting, and Es ther's eyes sparkled, but she drew back. “Y’ou need not wet your feet, you see,” he said, and lifting her suddenly, placed her in roll of money. A country which grows such wheat as that need not expect to get ahead very fast. Mr. Hauser crawled into a sewer while drunk, and was smothered in the mud. Would you call it whisky-side, sewer-cide or mudder ? he knows that every day is doomsday. Virtue is a life, not merely one of life’s results. It animates the heart and inspires the soul with the love of goodness, as well as controls the words of the lips and the actions of the hands. ... The man who is curious to know how the world could get along without him, can find out by sticking a cambric needle in a mill pond, and then withdrawing it and looking at the hole. orders while the price is down. The poetic sentiment given below will find thousands of indorsers among unsuccessful lov ers: Be not triumphant, little flower, When on haughty heart you lie; But modeatly eDjoy your hour. She'll weary of you by and by. Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly. Take things always by the smooth handle.